


Language of love

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [94]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x4 missing scene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jaime admires his wench’s body, Marriage Proposal, Season 8, Sexy Times, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:28:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime wants to ask his lady love to marry him. Only, he can’t bring himself to do it the conventional way.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Many ways to say I love you [94]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234904
Comments: 16
Kudos: 110





	Language of love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the best I could come up with for the title :(

Jaime takes in her flushed contented form, the sparkling blue eyes shining up at him, the full, slightly sore lips bearing evidence of his countless kisses, the gently heaving breasts topped with pearly buds hard as pebbles pressing into his chest, the usually pale skin now decorated with patches of pink, glistening from the sweaty exertion he’s put her through.

“What are you looking at?” 

He responds with his eyes, and as his gaze descends down her body, with it ascends the hue of colour that makes her ten times more desirable. “What are you staring at?” she asks again, and he can feel her heartbeat go up a notch. 

Again, he doesn’t answer, just smiles. And he can’t stop staring, can’t get enough of her. This woman in his arms—he wants to be wrapped around her forever. He wants her in his life, to fulfill every dream, every wish she harbours. He wants to sire her children, to hold her hand and watch them grow.

He wants to grow old with her, to fade away into the sunset with her by his side. And what better time than now to tell her that?

“Jaime—”

He silences her with a lazy fingertip outlining an oddly-shaped scar above her navel. “There—” He slowly dances around it, taking his time, making feathery contact, then withdrawing, then brushing her skin with gentle strokes again—taking all of this at an excruciating pace he knows will drive her mad with need. “This one looks like the sun, don’t you think?”

Brienne looks down at her stomach to evaluate his comparison. “Your eyes clearly betray you,” she playfully dismisses him. “Not surprising, though. You’re not that young anymore.”

He smirks at how mistaken she is, and very very keen on proving how much he's still capable of, dying to show off all that he can do to her. “I’m far from old. I still have enough in my loins to father another ten children at the very least,” he boasts, his cock alerted to the pleasurable prospect of flooding her with his seed again. “But we’ll come to that later.” 

“I don’t quite see where you’re going with this,” she wonders, when he returns to the matter at hand—yet another scar he’s caressing. 

“You’ll see that right here—” he tickles his way along its length, up her ribs, taking pleasure in every squirm, every tremble his touch evokes “—there’s a tiny crescent shaped one, too, aligned perfectly with the sun I just happened to discover,” he points out, showing her another mark that might, perhaps, resemble the moon if one would care enough to squint and picture it so. “Did you ever spare a thought to the possibility that you might, one day, end up with your house sigil engraved on your body, my lady?” 

“Oh, that’s just another figment of your imagination,” she waves him off, her wayward hand strolling down the streak of hair on his chest. “Or, if it sounds better, more solid proof of your failing eyesight.”

“And what do we have here?” he keeps it on, choosing to overlook her remark. Inching his way towards what he wants to tell her, he inches his hand further up to what he means to show her next. “A _lion_ , wench?”

A look of amusement shoots down his claim. “I see what you’re getting at. But that is no lion.”

Ignoring the correctness of her observation, he makes his way up her neck with tender sweet kisses. “Tarth and Lannister,” he breathes into her blushing skin, “one, as they’re meant to be.” His lips hovering over hers, he settles down to circle the swell of her breast, enjoying the sharp intake of breath, the little involuntary twitch she rewards him with when he brushes past her erect nipple. “What do you think?”

“I think—” She considers him for a moment, then in her eyes is a shine bright enough to light up the seven kingdoms, a gentle touch of mischief. “That was a pretty roundabout way to get to your point—no? Maybe you ought to speak in plainer words and make it easier for me?”

“Marry me,” he blurts it out, seizing the chance before his nerves can wreck it, then pins her down with his body and seals his proposal with a hungry drawn-out kiss knowing there’s no better way to put it.

When he lets go, her face tells him he’s close to his destination, but not quite there yet. “Is this the after-effect of last night’s wine talking, Ser Jaime?”

“You asked for plainer words,” he quips back, “and I can’t bring myself to speak plainer than this, Ser Brienne. So—” he softens down to a whisper as his hand resumes its journey along her breast “—what might your answer be?”

Instead of replying, she lets her beautiful eyes wander to his belly. “You have the sun, too,” she says, touching the remnants of one of Locke’s blows. “And here’s the moon to match it—” she’s diverted by another shapeless patch on his hip that nothing to do with what she’s making it out to be or anything even remotely close to it “—while it’s not exactly a crescent, I think it can appear quite convincing if you narrow your eyes and—” she tilts her head, squints a bit “—look at it like this.” 

“Oh, come now,” he grumbles, clicking his tongue in impatience. “I asked you a question. You can’t just evade it, use my own trick against me—” 

“And here it is,” she continues despite his intervention, a streak of crimson gushing up her neck as her hand goes on to uncover its next finding. “A majestic lion to decorate the golden lion himself.”

Eager to bring this to a fruitful close, he reaches between them to grab her hand before she can fumble around any further. “What do you think you’re playing at, wench?” He tries hard not to sound frantic, but fails spectacularly. “Maybe you ought to take a leaf out of your own book and give me your answer in plainer words.”

And she does.

With no more than a radiant smile, no deliberation nor another word to spar with his, she obliges him. When she pulls him closer to whisper the one word he’s been aching to hear all this while, the sun and the moon and the stars—they all cease to exist. She is all there is—the light at the end of the tunnel he has finally emerged from. 

And Jaime vows to treasure this gift until his last breath, never to let go of her hand, never to let the slightest trace of sadness taint the beauty of those exquisite eyes.

With a kiss as soft as a dewdrop on a petal, he promises her all of this, promises himself to her.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading!


End file.
